Pandora's Box
by strangertrack
Summary: When the box was opened, evil escaped into the world. Mukuro/Shouichi/Byakuran.


This was supposed to be a long one-shot but I haven't added to this in months. I'm hoping that breaking it down into three parts will make it easier to complete (and posting it will motivate me to finish quickly OTL).

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**1. Irie Shouichi**

* * *

The corridor seems to go on forever on either side, unbroken stretch of floor-to-ceiling white. Every few meters, there are doors on either side, unidentified in any way.

Shouichi tests one of the doors and finds it locked.

He tries the one across it. Also locked.

He walks down to the next one. Locked.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He continues walking down the corridor, methodically testing every door. His boots click hollowly against the white floor, the echoes reverberating through empty space and creating phantom double steps.

_Tap. (Tap). Tap. (Tap). Tap. (Tap). Tap. (Tap). Tap. (Tap Tap Tap Tap)_

Shouichi pauses.

_(tap)_

The steps die down. There's nothing but the sound of his own shallow breathing and the irregular beating of his heart.

Shouichi quickly checks the next door, a cursory twist and push, before hurrying down the corridor.

___Tap. (Tap). Tap. (Tap). Tap. (TapTap).Tap(TapTapTap) TapTapTap(TapTapTapTap TapTapTapTapTapTapTap)_  


Shouichi breaks out into a flat-out run but the echoes match his pace. No, more than match. They're getting faster. They're taking on a life of their own, breaking free from the rhythm of his steps and gaining on him.

_(TapTapTapTapTapTapTapTap)_

Louder.

_(TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP)_

"HAAAH. HAAH."

Shouichi is panting, his lungs are on fire, but he runs on pure adrenaline.

_(THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD THUDTHUDTHUD)_

He cannot stop. The unspeakable horror behind him continues to chase him down the corridor. Shouichi can _feel_ its presence growing bigger and more malevolent with each succeeding step.

_(TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP TAPTAPTAPTAP)_

He's never been more terrified in his life as the creature's shadow devours his own, massive jaws unhinging and razor-sharp claws reaching out to clamp down on his shoulder. Shouichi struggles not to pass out as he feels the _thing_ breathe on him, reeking of decomposition and moldy rot.

He s-l-o-w-ly turns his head.

Nothing there. Only sterile white walls, lined with closed doors.

"Haaaaah..."

"You forgot your box."

Shouichi whirls around toward the sound of the voice.

"W-what?"

"Your box." The baby tips his head toward Shouichi's feet. "You forgot it."

Shouichi looks down to see the Bovino box.

"It's not mine," he denies.

"It's yours, Irie Shouichi. You accepted it. You're responsible for it till the end."

"It's not mine," Shouichi insists, backing away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The baby looks up and beneath the hat's brim, there are two large, shiny black pupils, completely devoid of iris and sclera. They stare solemnly at Shouichi, unblinking and unreadable.

"Your box." The baby repeats mechanically. "Don't forget it. Your box. Your box. Your box."

The beetlelike eyes shimmer and twitch, and Shouichi watches with sick fascination as they rear up to reveal tiny, scrabbling arms and burrow themselves into the baby's skin.

The baby looks at Shouichi with hollow eye sockets. There's something alive squirming, pulsating, _writhing_ under the thin layer of skin, creating unsightly bumps and valleys that travels across the baby's discolored face and sloughs off his skin.

Maggots spew out of the baby's lips and wriggle down his chin as he speaks.

"Your box. Don't forget it."

Shouichi scoops up the box and hotfoots it back the way he came. It's impossible to judge distance in this endless corridor. He cannot remember how many doors he passes, does not know if he's come back to his original start point or if he's gone past it.

Then, he sees it. There's a figure in the distance.

"Help!" Shouichi calls out, waving one arm. "Heeeelp!! Can you show me the way out?!"

The figure spots him, waves back.

"Haaah. Haah."

Shouichi runs toward the figure and as he draws closer, he can make out more and more of the features. Running to meet him in rumpled striped tee and baggy pants, glasses, messy red hair, holding a box with one hand and waving with the other...

Shouichi slows to a halt and lowers his arm.

The boy mirrors his actions, identical look of astonishment on his face.

"You're going the wrong way."

It's a grown man who utters these words. Horns protrude out of his head and he wears a jacket of stitched animal hide, a Frankenstein patchwork made from fallen comrades. His right eye in closed in a permanent wink, as if trying to clue Shouichi in on a joke that he fails to get.

"W-what?"

"That's the beginning. The other way's the end."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you do, Irie-shi. You understand better than anyone. This is your own creation, after all."

"I created this?"

"This way, Irie-shi." The horned man turns him around and guides him back toward the way he came. "You can't do anything back there."

Shouichi allows himself to be led, watching over his shoulder to see the other boy in the distance staring back at him, being pushed behind the knees in the opposite direction by a five-year-old Lambo.

"This box." Shouichi hefts it higher. "Isn't it yours?"

"No. It's yours. It was entrusted to you. Only you can take it where it needs to go."

The horned man stops. "This is as far as I can accompany you. You must travel the rest of the distance alone. Stay resolved, and whatever you do, whatever you hear, don't look back."

"But-"

"We'll meet again. This, I promise."

Shouichi continues his solo journey back down the white corridor, uncertain of his destination, the box growing heavier in his arms with every step. Sweaty feet blister in his boots and his palms splinter from the wooden box.

He trudges by door after identical door.

_Shouichi._

Shouichi startles at the ghostly whisper and looks back unwittingly. There's a long trail behind him, leading up to his feet, a rivulet of dark, oxidizing red.

"What the--?"

Shouichi drops the box with a dull thud and is horrified to realize that he is covered with something other than clammy perspiration. It's soaked into his shirt, caked into his nails, and drips off his hands. It oozes out between the planks of the box and pools on the floor.

"Wine. It's gotta be the bottle of wine." Shouichi says raggedly, trying to convince himself.

_Shouichi._

He reaches out with trembling, bloody hands, jerks them back. Deep in his subconscious, he already knows what he'll find inside the box.

_Shouichi. Let me out._

Shouichi swallows hard and wipes his hands on his pants, smearing bloody prints onto the fabric. But still, his hands are unclean, the only way to remove all traces would be to amputate his hands. Shatter the bones at the incision point, slide through bruised flesh, sever the nerves, saw through muscle and bone fragments, and the blood would gush over him like a warm nighttime bath, rinsing away the stain of his crime.

_Let me out._

"_No._" He breathes the word out, a nearly inaudible, anguished prayer. "I can't."

Shouichi sinks to the floor and hugs his knees to his chest. " I can't. I can't. I can't," he chants. "I never wanted to be involved. This box... if only this box never existed."

"If that's what Shou-chan wants."

The box disintegrates into dust, then scatters like forgotten memories.

"You... who are you?"

The man smiles warmly with ice in his eyes. "Oya? You can see through my disguise?" His Hell rings glow with unholy aura as he takes Shouichi's hand.

"Let's just say, I'm someone who's taken interest in you, Irie Shouichi."

Shouichi is simultaneously repulsed and attracted as the stranger with the familiar face lifts his hand up to kiss the tips of his fingers, lips painted with blood that he licks up with an indecent tongue.

"I can shatter your nightmares and fulfill all your fantasies. All you have to do, is let me in."

-----

Shouichi wakes up to sticky sheets. He sneaks the evidence into the washer and steps into the shower. His right hand still burns as he slides against the cool tiles. Wrapped in misty fog and hot spray of water, he jerks himself off until he comes a second time.

Afterwards, he sleeps like a log, undisturbed by nightmares for the first time since a curious wooden box arrived on his doorstep so many years ago.

-----

**End Irie Shouichi side.**

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November 21, 2009


End file.
